


After the Funeral

by kethni



Category: Veep (TV)
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 15:49:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19321270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kethni/pseuds/kethni
Summary: He smelled good.





	After the Funeral

**Author's Note:**

> For Anonymous who asked for a Ben/Kent story. I hope you enjoy it!

 

Denial ain't just a river in Egypt, ain't that the fucking phrase? Stupid. Stupid phrase. Stupid word. Six stages of grief. That's a crock of shit too. Nobody walks around after a fucking bereavement like “la, la, la, life is great,” refusing to face the fucking truth. You know the truth. It's a weight on your fucking chest every time you breathe. It's this huge shadow in the corner of every room. It’s a giant shambling shape following you every step you take. There's no getting away from it. Nobody feels “denial” after a death.

What they feel, maybe, is that they’re stuck in a fucking nightmare. It's not real. It can't be fucking real. Because reality isn't the universe and physics and who's president or any of that shit. Reality is who you are. Where you work. It’s who your family is. Reality is what you touch and what you see and what you smell. All that other stuff is just taking shit on faith. My damn nine cup mug is more real to me than fucking France, and I’ve been there on three honeymoons.

So, when this happens, when someone like this dies, reality wobbles. Some of the planks of the foundation are gone. Everything is less real. I'm less real. Because how could this happen? I'm the one supposed to kick the bucket. Everyone knows it. Everyone knows it should be been me, not her.

***

He put his hand on top of mine. who does that? You don't do that to other men. Maybe you do it to women if they're family or you know 'em real well and they won't freak out. Women can do it. Sure. Not that Amy was gonna do that. When she gave me a hug it was like getting a cuddle from C-fucking-3 PO.

Nothing from Selina Meyer. Even Montez sent a card, and she’s the damn opposition. Probably Sue's doing. She looks much better. She was real sick for a while. Kent didn't say anything, but he was worried. You spend that much time together you get to know that shit, even when they don't say anything. Now he's worrying about me. Fucking wonderful.

***

Had the wake at the house. Kids bawling. Her sister drunk. Why the fuck do I have to be the one to stay sober? Fucking Kent cut me off after four drinks. The kids aren't gonna magically stop crying if I stop drinking, are they? Their mom is still dead, ain’t she?

Jesus. Joyce's sister maybe broken my fucking nose. Kent was a real pain in the ass about it. Sit here. Pinch there. Don't tilt your head back or you'll choke on your blood.

He smelled good.

Sue got pissy and told me to sleep it off. I came down a couple hours later and she was cleaning up with Kent. He'd taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He said Joyce's sister said she’d take the kids for a couple days while I get my shit together. He didn't say get my shit together. I bet she did.

Sue kissed my cheek when she left. Kent gave me a hug. Real close. Real tight. Felt good. Told me to call if I needed anything. Yeah, yeah, sure.

Last guy who hugged me was Steve. Let's stay in touch. We can stay friends. Load of shit. Nobody stays friends.

***

Nanny? A fucking nanny? What's this Mary Poppins shit? Fucking Kent. Can't be legal to pay her through BKD. She looks about twelve. Good with the kids. Petey got sent home for fighting. Carol keeps crying.

Dinner at Kent's place. Not a proper dinner party. No asshole kids at proper dinner parties. Him, Sue, Sue’s husband, Amy, his sister, her kids, Amy's bitchy sister and kids, Catherine, Marjorie, and their kid. Jesus. Too many kids. Too many women. Kent in his fucking element. What the hell? Kent laughing with Catherine? Playing with Sophie's kids? Ugh!

Mixed cocktails in the kitchen. Three for Sue. She hates kids. Husband caught her eye fucking Kent. Trouble in paradise.

Kent served a full buffet. Lots of vegan crap along with pizza and wings. He put his hand on my back when he leaned over. Small of my back. Warm.

Food okay. Stuck next to my kids. Can tell Kent knows shit about kids... kids need their own table. Everyone's kids are fucking intolerable to everyone else. Worse than adults. His sister opposite. Meg. Good looking woman. Hazel eyes like Kent. Staring at me.

The parental types left first. Catherine & Marjorie, then Meg and hers, and Sophie last. Mine asleep on the couch. Fuck. Sue's husband half carried her out. Kent put blankets over Petey and Carol. Made coffee. Amy had a coffee. Whined about Jonah and fucked off. My kids snoring. Kent said I could sleep in the spare room if I wanted. No point disturbing the kids. Asked him if he thought I was gonna drive drink. I came in an Uber. Shook his head. Thinks I wouldn't risk physical harm to the kids. Just emotional and psychological harm. Asshole.

Sat in the back garden looking at meteor shower and drinking green tea. Tastes like warm salad. Kent said his girlfriend died when he was thirty-seven. Brain aneurysm. Not the same, he knows. No. It’s not.

Sick of fucking of weeping. Sick of other people seeing. Cringing. Pretending not to see it. Kent gets me some Kleenex. Asks what I need. I don't fucking know. Do I look like some yoga guy who meditates and is “in touch with his feelings”?

Kent tells me this physics thing. Conservation of energy. Atoms aren't destroyed. The universe is a closed system. When you die your atoms remain. They move on. You become earth, plants, animals, even people. We’re made up of atoms that were once exploding stars and diamond rain. One day we will be again.

Crock of shit. Sounded nice though. He looked into my face when he said it. Put his hand on top of mine.

He stood up before I could do anything else. Said he'd make up the spare bed.

***

My weekend with my son. He's twenty-three so who the fuck knows why he wants to hang around with an old fart like me. Christ knows I wasn't around much when he was a kid. That's just how it is. My dad wasn't around when I was a kid. Sometimes he didn't get home until I'd gone to bed. He’d stumble into my room, tripping over shoes and shit, smelling of stale beer. That's just how it was.

Ricky's girlfriend lost a baby. Fuck, I didn't even know she was pregnant. I asked him why he was here when she was going through that shit. She's gone to her parents. She doesn't want to see him. He needs “fatherly advice” from someone. Some bonding.

Called Kent. He said take Ricky hiking, camping, fishing. Some alpha male shit like that. Stuff he did with his dad. Must’ve been nice.

***

Modern piece of shit technology. In my day we had maps and a compass. Now it's all apps on your phone and being stuck in the fucking woods god knows where. Carol is crying. Petey pissed on a skunk. Guess how that ended? Yeah.

Ricky in hysterics. Called Kent. On his way. Said we can't be more than a couple miles from the camp site. Told him to bring beer. I was kidding! Why can't anyone take a joke?

Carol said she hates me. Told her to get in line.

Kent turned up looking like he was on his way to a Canadian gay porno: all plaid shirt, hiking boots, and jeans. He looked _good_ , just, you know, like he was cosplaying a character who some twenty-year-old twink calls daddy and asks to be choked by. Joyce bought me a DVD like that for my last birthday. It was pretty good. When I was a kid the porn was fucking embarrassing. Modern stuff there was a fifty-fifty chance Joyce would get turned on or just laugh until she fucking cried.

Petey still stank of skunk funk. Kent made me carry him. Fucker didn’t laugh but I’m sure he thought it was funny. He walked in front with Carol. She doesn’t hold my hand like that. Ungrateful. Whatever. He was wearing tight jeans so I fucking win.

***

Joyce’s birthday. Would’ve been. Kids too little to track that shit. Fuck, I barely track that stuff. Forgot last year. Kent had to cover a couple meetings for me so I could buy a gift and all that. Diamond earrings. She looked like she was gonna faint. Asked if Kent bought them. Rude. All he did was remind me.

Still reach for her in the morning when I wake up. Still listen for her breathing.

Went to work. What was I gonna do, mope around at home all day? Kids going to Joyce’s parents after school. A drinks thing for work in the evening. Put on my monkey suit and pretend I’m interested in the bullshit people say at these things. We don’t put on a good enough spread for clients to bring wives. Most of ‘em bring mistresses or sex workers. Dan offered to hire me one. That’s his idea of grief therapy.

Kent in a tux. Looks great. Fresh haircut. Beard trimmed. Smells great. No date tonight. Wasn’t he dating a gymnast or some shit?

Fucker still cut me off after four drinks. Told the wait staff to slip me water. Whatever. Go out onto the balcony. Too many lights in the city to see the stars. Nice chill in the air.

Balcony door opened. Kent. Bow tie a little loose. Hair slightly ruffled. Worrying about me again. Have had just about all of that I’m gonna take.

Hand on my arm.

Looking into my face.

Moonlight in his eyes.

Soft kiss. Tastes so good.

Shaking his head. No. Sorry. No. I just… I don’t… I’m sorry.

Of course. Why the fuck did I ever think different?

The End.


End file.
